


It's a Metaphor

by turnedouttobeagaything



Series: I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8863891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnedouttobeagaything/pseuds/turnedouttobeagaything
Summary: Cas comes across a news article that gets him thinking about his feelings for Dean. They talk.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well hey there! This was the _first_ iteration of my SPN Holiday Mixtape challenge. The final version I submitted is drastically different and has way more winter fluff and Christmas goodies (if you haven't read it yet, read it [here!!!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8710129)) but you'll probably catch some very familiar phrases/ideas. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy! As always check out my [tumblr](http://turnedouttobeagaything.tumblr.com/)! :) xo

“Dean, have you ever canoodled in public?”

The slice of French toast on Dean’s spatula misses the griddle and lands on the counter with a disheartening _splat_. From behind him, he hears Sam’s startled laughter turn into coughing, and vindictively hopes he choked on his orange juice.

“Jeez, Cas,” Dean chokes out, sparing a glare over his shoulder as he scoops the mess off the counter and plops it back on the stove. “What kind of question is that?”

“An open-ended one.”

It’s too early for this. Cas has a newspaper scrunched up under one arm and his hair’s in disarray. He’s wearing a pair of ratty sweatpants that Dean is pretty sure are his. The sight makes his teeth clench.

“Okay,” he says slowly, unsure if he truly wants to know the answer to the question he’s about to pose. “But _why_ are you asking?”

“I was curious.”

Dean folds his arms over his robe and leans up against the counter, eyeing Cas suspiciously. “You just woke up today and wondered if I’ve ever cuddled someone in the back of a restaurant?” Sam starts laughing again. “The answer’s no.”

“My question was about _canoodling_ ,” Cas says, unrelenting. Against his every effort, Dean feels his cheeks start to itch with a blush. “Canoodling suggests a heightened level of intimacy; don’t you think?”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam manages to say, wiping at his eyes. “Canoodling is sexy.”

“Everyone _stop_ saying canoodle!” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s definitely too early for this. “Answer’s still _no_ , Cas. Of course not.”

Cas makes this noise like he doesn’t totally believe him, but there’s no way in hell Dean’s gonna say: _Yes, Cas, one time I gave a hand job to a guy in a bathroom stall, why do you ask?_ Especially with Sam sitting right there and _grinning_ like that.

“…I don’t wanna know,” Dean finally decides, turning back around to poke impatiently at the browning toast. “I do _not_ want to know.”

“I do,” Sam declares. “What’s going on, Cas?”

“I was only wondering because Sandra Perkins was very amenable to the idea of canoo—“

“ _Hey_!” Dean calls warningly. He knows Cas is glaring at him without even turning around. It makes his lips twitch as he takes the last French toast off the griddle.  

Cas starts again, delicately: “Sandra Perkins seemed to enjoy _having relations_ in public so much that she was caught with Santa Claus at her child’s elementary school.”

“ _What?_ ” Sam asks incredulously. “Is this for a case?”

“Who the hell is Sandra Perkins?” Dean demands as he carries the breakfast plates to the table and sits next to Cas. He changed his mind. He does want to know.

Cas holds the newspaper up. It’s the Smith County Pioneer, a local rag that Dean’s gotten into a habit of picking up whenever he’s at the gas station because Cas likes to leaf through it. Today, the headline reads: _Kansas_ _PTA Mom Caught Canoodling with Santa!_

“Sandra and her husband were supposed to be volunteering at a holiday fundraiser for her daughter’s school. Instead, she was found in an empty classroom with the man dressed up as Santa.”

“So…this isn’t for a case?” Sam clarifies, taking the paper to skim the story.

“No.” Cas pulls his plate toward him. “Dean, this looks delicious.”

Dean ignores the compliment, pushing a bottle of syrup towards him. “Here. I warmed it up for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well. I didn’t want to listen to you complain, that’s all.” It’s a lie, and Cas knows it if his fond smile is anything to go by.

“Thank you, Dean.”

He says it like Dean has performed CPR on a kitten instead of just pressing a button on the microwave. Sam rolls his eyes from across the table and Dean clears his throat—ducks his head down low as he digs into his food.

* * *

He thinks that Sandra Perkins and her ill-advised dalliance with Santa Claus are well and truly forgotten. They finish breakfast without any further mention of _canoodling_ and Dean successfully refuses to wonder why Cas chose to ask _him_ about his sexy-cuddling experiences instead of Sam. It isn’t until later when Cas joins him on the couch to watch _Home Alone_ that it comes up again.

They’re sharing a Christmas tin of variety popcorn and a pot of peppermint hot chocolate that’s attempting to chase away the December chill that has pervaded the Bunker (perks of living underground). Cas’ leg is warm where it touches Dean’s, but he’s doing his best not to notice.

“How could they just forget their child?” Cas sounds horrified, a handful of caramel popcorn frozen on its way to his mouth.

“People are dumb.” Dean grins at the outraged look on Cas’ face. He’s fun to watch movies with because he invariably ends up giving scathing criticisms to any character he gets annoyed with. Sam can’t stand it (he’s one of those silent movie-watchers), but Dean thinks it’s one part hilarious and two parts endearing.

“Do you believe Sandra Perkins was dumb?”

“Huh?” Dean was fully prepared to hear Cas go after Mrs. McCallister, so he has to replay the question in his head a couple of times before it computes. “Are you talking about that lady again?”

He sighs. “I’m just trying to understand why the media is vilifying her.”

“That’s what the media _does_ ,” Dean snorts.

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Cas, no offense, but what’s-her-face cheated on her husband at her kid’s school. And then got _caught_.” Dean raises his eyebrows pointedly. “She kind of deserves to be vilified.”

Cas chews thoughtfully for a second, stirring his hot chocolate with a slowly melting candy cane. “Hm,” he finally says. Dean does not like _hms_.

“What?” he groans. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cas eyes him for a moment before speaking. “She was clearly unhappy in her marriage. You believe she should be vilified for finding happiness?”

“When it comes at the expense of her family, yeah.”

“But it’s Christmas. I thought Christmas was supposed to be all about happiness.”

“Yeah, and now her daughter’s gonna spend Christmas morning wondering why her mom isn’t there.”

Cas fidgets, accidentally pressing his leg harder into Dean before moving away completely. “Well maybe her daughter will learn that personal happiness is important.” His eyes are hard and indecipherable. “That she can’t go through life always trying to make everyone _else_ happy.”

Something inside Dean spikes with anger. “You trying to tell me something, Cas?”

 

Cas' jaw tightens. “Obviously,” he says slowly, “Sandra made a mistake. I don’t think an elementary school was the best place for a rendezvous, especially since her family was there—“

Dean sighs loudly. “Cas. Bottom line: you don’t fuck over your family. You just don’t do it.”

After a moment, Cas murmurs: “You feel very strongly about this.”

“’Course I do.”

“So…you believe that someone should sacrifice their own happiness for the sake of their family’s?”

“Not…always.” Dean rubs a hand over his chin, trying to find a way to explain himself. He wasn’t ready for a debate with Cas. Those usually happen after a couple of beers, or when they’ve been cooped up in the car, driving down an endless highway. Not on the couch during a lazy evening in. “She had options. She could’ve tried to stick it out for her kid. Or she could’ve broken it off with her husband before ever messing with Santa Claus.” Dean blinks. "That was the weirdest thing I've ever said."

Cas chews on his lip. “But emotions can be so confusing…how could she have been expected to give up on her family if there was no guarantee that she and Santa would work out long-term?”

“She gave up on her family anyways—the second she kissed that other guy."

Cas doesn’t react. He seems more serious than he usually does when they talk about things and it’s making Dean a little antsy. He doesn’t get why Cas is so hung up on this.

“You’re acting like there’s always going to be someone that’s unhappy. Isn’t there a solution where everyone wins?”

Dean snorts. “Not in my experience.” He regrets being so cynical almost immediately. Cas gets this little pinch between his brows that Dean wants to smooth with his thumb, but he lets his hand wrap securely around his mug instead. 

“Cas, what’s wrong?” he asks finally, when Cas says nothing else. “Spill.”

“Recently,” Cas begins haltingly, "I've become better at thinking metaphorically."

"Okay...?"

"So, _metaphorically_ , if I were going to try to describe our current relationship...I might say that I am Sandra Perkins and you are Santa Claus."

Whatever Dean had been expecting Cas to say, it wasn’t that. His hands are already sweating—probably a knee-jerk reaction to hearing the word _relationship_ fall out of Cas’ mouth. He’s staring at Cas’ profile, blood buzzing in his ears, and Cas is studiously staring at the television even though neither of them are watching it anymore.

“Okay,” he says, voice deceptively light. “Not quite sure where you're going with this, Cas..."

Cas gives him this _look_ that's half-sad and half-amused, like he _knows_ Dean’s pretending that he has no idea what Cas is about to say, but he averts his eyes again and plows on in the next second. Dean gets the feeling that if Cas lets himself stop now, he may never start up again.

“If I, Sandra Perkins, choose to act on my feelings for Santa, I may cause unhappiness in my family. I may ruin our friendship, or make...Santa's brother uncomfortable. If I don't act, then _I'm_ stuck being unhappy." He frowns. "Metaphorically."

“You’re unhappy?” The words come out hoarse, but Dean counts it as a miracle that they even make their way out at all.

“Sometimes,” he says quietly. “Although… _unsatisfied_ might be a better word.”

Dean is unsatisfied too. Sometimes he aches for Cas so much that he can feel it like a physical thing. “Yeah.” It comes out a little shaky. “Me too.”

"Dean..." he says, quiet but fierce. "Do you _truly_ think there is no solution where we can both be happy?"

"Metaphorically?" he asks weakly. Joking.

Cas glances at Dean again; a quick, darting thing out of the corner of his eye. He shakes his head. 

Right. Dean searches desperately for an acceptable answer, picks at the rim of his mug with his fingernail. He’s no good at this.

“I’m no good at this,” he tells Cas.

Cas is, if possible, even worse at it. He's staring straight ahead; sitting patient and still like he’s willing to sit on this fucking couch all night until Dean gets his act together. 

“Look,” he finally breaks. “Okay, so—you’re _not_ Sandra Perkins. If I knew that’s what you were thinking, I never would have…” He pauses, tongue-tied, and lets out a frustrated breath. “You aren’t married and you don’t have a kid and we aren’t in an elementary school. It’s a totally different situation. You get what I’m saying?”

Cas eyes Dean. “You’re saying our family dynamic is different,” he parses, which is way more elegant than anything Dean could have come up with. Maybe Cas isn’t so bad at this after all. “You’re saying…it _could_ be possible to make everyone happy.”

“Yeah, I’m saying—“ Dean nods, decisively. “Yes. I’m saying that.” He gives into the urge to reach out to Cas, lets his arm stretch along the back of the couch until it’s around Cas’ shoulder and pulling him closer. He figures he’s allowed to do this now. “C’mere,” he says. His hands feel big and too clunky, but Cas settles against him and he finds that he likes the way they fit together. “I’m saying we’ll figure it out together.”


End file.
